


Rainy Days

by cosmogyrals



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmogyrals/pseuds/cosmogyrals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha and the Doctor find themselves drawn together after they get caught in the rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainy Days

They stumble blindly into the TARDIS togther, soaked through to the skin and laughing joyously. "You really need to start checking the weather beforehand, Doctor," Martha tells him, grinning up at him as she pushes a wet lock of hair that's slipped free from her ponytail away from her face. 

"The weather? Martha, I'd be a bit more concerned about the sentient mold trying to claim you as its queen if I were you!" He notices a red welt on her arm and runs his fingertips over it. "Are you all right, your Majesty?" Though his eyes are still laughing, Martha can see the concern and hear it in his voice. And yet - she shivers when he touches her, though she tries to tell herself that it's just because the TARDIS is chilly and she's soaking wet. She hopes that's what he's chalking it up to.

"I can't believe the mold thought I'd make a good queen," she grumbles good-naturedly, taking a step back as she wrings out her top. "Though that's not exactly the first time."

"Indeed." The Doctor smirks at her. "Would you say that being a mold queen is better or worse than being a virgin goddess of jeweled crustaceans?"

"Depends on whether or not I'd get to eat lobster every night," she retorts, biting back a remark that she's been disqualified from being a virgin deity for quite some time now. "And let's not forget those ferns."

"The fondling fronds that thought you were their soulmate? You were _covered_ in spores after that." The Doctor closes the distance between them again, resting a hand on her hip. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're somehow completely irresistable to aliens."

Except, she thinks wryly, the one standing right in front of her - and then she's taken aback as the Doctor leans in and sniffs her neck.

"Mmm," he hums, his lips nearly touching her skin. "You smell perfectly normal, anyway. Typical levels of twenty-first century hormones and pheromones. Perhaps they just find you attractive, Martha."

Martha wonders if he knows the effect his proximity is having on her; even _he_ can't possibly be that thick. He pulls back for a moment, still giving her a strange little smile. "Consider yourself lucky, I suppose. Not many women get to be worshiped and adored by cultures all across the universe. I expect they'll be putting up statues to you next. Though they never _do_ manage to get statues quite right - you should see a few that are meant to be of me. _Completely_ inaccurate." The Doctor rests his other hand on Martha's hip, drawing little circles with his thumb. 

"I don't think colonies of mold can make statues," she tells him, wondering what the hell he's doing, going on and on about statues and being strangely intimate with her at the same time.

He refuses to meet her eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. "I suppose they could just sort of erode -" He stops in mid-sentence and kisses Martha hungrily, pulling her against him with a surprising speed.

"You're _cold_!" Martha yelps as soon as they break free. It's true - he's wearing a wet suit, and, though it's clinging to his frame quite nicely, the cloth is still freezing against her bare skin. She grins wolfishly at him, wondering if he knows what he's started - the utterly bemused look on his face hints that he doesn't - and she pushes his jacket off his shoulders, then loosens his tie. Leaning in, she kisses his neck, her lips warm against the cool skin. She loves the way the raindrop bead on his neck, clinging to the angular planes of his skin; her lips follow the trail down his neck to his collarbone, and he shudders as she swirls her tongue in the hollow there.

"Martha," he whispers reverently, slipping a strap of her tank top off her shoulder and running his long fingers under it, following the cloth to the curve of her breast, and now it's her turn to gasp as he touches her. They keep undressing each other, exploring their bare skin, alternating lips and tongues and fingers to see which elicits the most favourable reaction, until finally they're both naked there in the console room. The Doctor grins like someone's just given him a load of sweets, and suddenly, Martha finds herself being picked up and carried.

"Oi!" she protests, though she doesn't mind having her head against his chest and listening to his heartbeats. "I'm quite capable of walking!"

"Yeah, but this is faster, and is less likely to result in shagging up against a wall. Not that I mind walls, they're nice sometimes, but I think we really ought to do this in bed so that you don't catch pneumonia, yeah?" He presses a quick kiss to the top of her head. "And it's not like you weigh anything, even soaking wet."

"Oh, like you're one to talk," she retorts breathlessly as they fall to the Doctor's bed in a tangle of limbs, and soon after that, they stop speaking entirely, reverting to the language of touch as they press against each other, entwining their legs as they kiss again. The Doctor's just as good a kisser as she'd thought he was back on the Moon, plenty of tongue - no surprise there - and with an almost wistful longing to his kisses. She wraps her arms around him to hold him close and reassure him, and suddenly she's on top of him, straddling his hips, and he's giving her that roguish smile that she's rapidly beginning to think is meant to be seductive - if so, it certainly does the trick. She runs her hands down his chest, watching him tilt his head back into the feather pillow as his eyelids flutter closed from pleasure. His hearts are beating frantically beneath her fingertips.

She mirrors his smile with one of her own and shifts just _there_ , and oh, _fuck_ , she's been fantasizing about this for God knows how long, but she never thought it would feel quite like this. He's cool inside her, but the temperature difference is interesting, rather than unpleasant. It makes her shudder and tighten around him, and he fists his hands in the sheets, bucking his hips up into her as something incoherent spills from his lips. He finally opens his eyes again, and they're wide open and filled with lust as he watches her start to move on him.

"Martha," he moans, and hearing him say her name like _that_ nearly undoes her, especially when he reaches between them to start rubbing her with those dexterous fingers of his. Martha leans a little bit one way and is rewarded with a flood of pleasure that spurs her to move faster and faster, grinding against him till her orgasm overtakes her and she cries out his name, gripping his hips tightly. He thrusts up into her as she tightens around him and follows shortly thereafter with a shout of his own, hoarse and wordless and almost animalistic.

***

She stays in his bed, though she's still a little surprised to be there in the first place, and nestles against him, pulling the duvet up - the chill in the air is beginning to give her goosebumps again. "So, ready to erect a statue to me now?" she teases him.

"Marble's never been my preferred medium," he admits as he runs his fingertips through her hair, "but I think I may make an exception for you."


End file.
